Making Beautiful Music

Ch.2 A Piano, Port and Thou, Almost
Sitting on the sofa next to Jack, Emmeline became exceedingly aware of his presence which
somehow seemed to take up a great deal of space in the parlor which impressed Em as being
rather smallish suddenly. Like a corral.
Jack set his wineglass down on the tea table and turned to her then. 'Em...' he began, 'It's
been awhile since, well, if ever?--that we've actually had a chance to talk much, I mean just
relaxing just we two, without either hiding out from sheriffs or mad scientists with a
vendetta...'
'The usual thing!'Em smiled.
Jack smiled back. 'I'm truly sorry Em, we got off on such a wrong foot as it were. I want to
make that up to you. Em, I want to...'he reached out for her hand...
'OH, my biscuits!' Emmeline popped up as if propelled by a trebuchet and headed at a trot
into the kitchen. Jack at first thought it to be an exclamation like her 'o my stars!' so
deeply was he consumed by his own ruminations, but he now realized that actual biscuits were
involved here. He gamely took his wine and followed Em.
'Whew! They're fine! Just right in fact,' she pronounced, taking them from the oven.
'Oh, Em...sourdough, are they?' Jack inhaled a whiff of heaven.
'That ok with you, Mr. Massachusettes?' Em smiled as she tipped them from the pan into  a
waiting basket and covering them with a tea towel, took them into the dining room.
'It's a delight and actually, one of my favorite things in the whole world...what can I do to
help, Em?'Being a world-traveler and having come back only recently to the east coast, Jack
seemed rather amused by Em's assumptions of his origins, but decided to play along as it gave
her a handle on him. He wanted her to be more comfortable with him, give her something she
could relate to in his makeup. But 'Hah-vahd' he was not, and no Massachussettes man, he. Far
from it. But just how different he was, he decided Em didn't need to know just yet.
'Well, grab the tamale pie, that casserole dish there, here's a mitt,' she handed him one,
'and then have a seat! We're ready to dine!'Jack did so, thinking that he was nearly always
ready for that...but had best keep it to himself for now...
                            . . . . .
After dinner found them back in the parlor, but in a much more comfortable space now with
hunger sated and a glass or two of the marvellous merlot under their belts. Jack was stoking
the fire up while Mac and Frida both lay on the hearth soaking up heat from the bricks. The
parlor clock ticked softly, the woodfire crackled pleasantly. Not a bad way to spend a
chillish Febuary Friday night.
Em had spread her sheet music upon the tea table as they relaxed with the rest of the wine,
humming a little as she glanced through her song list. 'OK,'she addressed Jack, 'I have: In
the Evening By the Moonlight, Darling Clementine, Vive la Compagnie...I need something sort
of soothing, and then something more rollicking, or as rollicky as they get at the Inn, which
is rather sedate, I must admit...'
'Alright, we'll work up a varied set for you, Em.' Jack took his wine and moved to the old
upright, and sat, feeling out some chords. 'Hmmm, needs abit of tuning...let's have John
Grace come out here and have a listen, Em. He's the best piano tuner in these parts.'
'Oh, Mr. Grace, the blind piano tuner. Yes, I've heard of him.'
Mr. Grace was the best, Em knew. Could she afford the best though?
As if reading her thoughts, Jack said, 'It's on me, Em--no arguments!' He smiled at her,
'That was the best dinner I've had in awhile! Much appreciated.' He pumped the pedals and
tested the old instrument's resonance. 'Yeats has been off again for some time. He left just
after we returned from San Francisco...'
Em hadn't known this. She wondered what he was about. There was much more to Mr. Yeats than
met the eye, she believed. Emmeline also took her wine over to the piano and sat on the bench
next to Jack. He scooted over for her abit, and smiling, began a rather upbeat  bluesy
number.
'" Who's that woman in the sparkling dress, with diamond brocade, on her chest? She's a Big-
Time Woman, From Way Out West! Automobiles and a cozy home, but she lives there--all alone!
She's a big-time woman...from way out west!
  Oh the way she treats these back-east men!---Ahhh, it's a sin!
She keeps them askin' the same darn thing, all over again...
  Every fella has a winnin' smile, but she treats them all, just like a child! She's a big-
time woman...from way out west!'"
Jack finished, swaying a little side to side as he played out the chords. Em swayed too.
'I love it, Jack! Is it yours? I hadn't heard it before!'she allowed.
'Oh, no...well, just sortof a warm-up song. Probably should steer clear. Hasn't been composed
quite yet...it would fit right in though, with the song style.' Em agreed, and Jack fooled
around the keyboard, wincing and frowning at some of the notes that were off by kilometers.'I
have written some stuff of my own, but I mean, really,'he smiled at her,'who can say that in
my time, or any time. It's all reworking of old tunes...'Old as the Hills' folks say. Our
ancestors came over here to the new world bringing their music with them. We sort of bent and
twisted and poked new things into them here and there, but it's all roots music, of one form
or another!'
'So true, Jack,'Em said, joining Jack on the keyboard with some tentative fingering. 'I love
the old hills music! It just all sounds like keltic rounds to me, with the fiddle and drum!'
'Yep,and add a banjo, originally from Afrika, Em! And you have a new American style of music.
We call it bluegrass now, as in Kentucky.'
'Oh, you know, Jack, I just remembered something! The Guevaras mentioned a barn-raising this
weekend! Out in the country somewhere...but there's going to be a hoe-down, Saturday night I
believe!...You do know what a hoe-down is, Massachusettes?'Em asked with a crooked grin of
her own.
'Oy...'Jack mumbled, then spoke up,'Yes, Em, I know from hoe-downs, already!' but he grinned.
'Good. Well, if you want to hear some hills music, we could check it out, if you like...'Em
was playing a more sedate 'Aura Lee' softly.
'I'd love it, Em! Gosh, that'd be swell...' Jack added a bass accompaniment, draining his
glass.
Em, ever the diligent hostess noted this. 'Oh, I do have some lovely port Jack...let's just
have a wee taste, shall we?' So saying, she up and toddled off into the pantry. Jack didn't
stop her. He figured Em could use a little limbering-up as it were...
He was having fun, he realized, here with Em and her dogs and her out-of-tune old piano, and
oh, mercy, her sourdough biscuits...enough to make a fella swoon, he thought. Best go easy on
that port, then, Jack, he told himself...
Em returned with a tray bearing two small sherry glasses of tawny port, some small slices of
sharp cheddar and a dessert dish of cracked walnuts.'Em...you're spoiling me rotten!' Jack
loved it, taking a small sip.'Oh, that's grand! Cheers, luv!'
Em clinked her glass to his, pausing a moment to reflect how that particular toast recalled
to mind her captain...where are they now...she wondered.
Em began to play a slow rendition of 'Corrina, Corrina' then as Jack munched and listened.
'"I left Corrina, far across the sea...I left Corrina, far across the sea...wouldn't write me
no letters...she wouldn't talk to me...'" Em's voice echoed her wistful longing.
Jack knew what she was feeling. He added some basslines. 'Haven't heard anything as yet, Em?'
he asked, not looking up.
'Not a word, not a wire, nothing...'She sighed.'I know they're probably far away by now, and
news would travel slowly...but I'm dying for a word from them. And nothing from your Mr.
Yeats, either? I'm sure they're fine...just, concerned, you know...'
Jack knew. 'We'll have word soon, I'm sure. It isn't like Yeats to keep us in the dark for
long.' Noting Em's introspective air, he decided he should perhaps enliven things somewhat
and try to regain their earlier ease. Striking up what sounded like a polka or shottisch
perhaps, Jack began to sing: "'Desmond has a barrow in the market-place! Molly is a singer in
a band! Desmond says to Molly, girl I like your face! And Molly says this as she takes him by
the hand...'"
Em smiled as the evening's entertainment progressed into a more
upbeat mode, joining in on the oom-paa-paa sortof song Jack had chosen which sounded vaguely
familiar but with altogether weird wording. Especially the  "'Oobla Di, Oobla Da, Life Goes
On---Braaa! La, la how then life goes on!'" Another 20th-century sample she decided, lots of
those 'braaa's' in the chorus. Must be Scottish, she decided. She rather liked it though...
                            . . . . .

The fire had burned rather low and the port had gotten rather low in the bottle as well by
the time the hour struck 11 o'clock. Em and Jack were still playing and swaying upon the
bench together, and even swaying when they weren't playing. They were feeling rather more
comfortable with one another, and  music being the food of love, as they say...then play on!
Jack had cleverly steered most of the music toward the love song genre, hoping that Em would
respond. She eagerly joined him, and occasionally they'd trade places and Em would take the
bass lines, and so on they played throughout the evening...but Emmeline hadn't really made
the effort to move away from the bench and head back to the couch at all. Jack enjoyed their
playing together, but wished she'd get serious for a minute, at last! Still, hoping, still
dreaming...he launched into another Beatle's tune, with Em leaning heavily on his shoulder
now...she wasn't asleep, was she? he wondered...
"'Here I stand, head in hand, turn my face to the wall...if she's gone I can't go on, feeling
two foot small-lll--lll...everywhere people stare each and every day! I can see them laugh at
me, and I hear them sayy-yyy-yyy! HEY!!!'" Jack yelled,"'You've got to hide your love
away!!'" Em hadn't stirred, though.He tried again: "'HEY! You've got to hide your love
awaaayyy...'"Still nothing.
Jack let the chords die down. 'Em?' he asked tentatively. A soft snore was his only answer.
Jack sighed, closing the piano up for the night. 'C'mon, Em,' he told her softly, 'I guess
I've got to hide my love away...' He gently lifted her from the bench and taking her over to
the sofa, lay her upon it with a pillow behind her head. Covering her with an afghan quilt
nearby, Jack stoked the fire up for her, surmising it would burn another hour and she should
waken and head on up to bed after sleeping off the port. That's what did it, he told himself.
Should've held back. But we were having such a jolly time and all...he looked down at
Emmeline, resting cozily now, 'Snoring like a...lamb!' he told himself. Jack stared at her
awhile, glad to take his fill of watching her, unobserved. She looked so sweet, lying there,
all relaxed and so easily kissed...
'No, no, bad wolf...' Jack told himself. A lamb, was she, not lambchops.Jack sighed and
turned to her watchdogs.'Wake her in an hour, Mac!' he issued the order, and taking his coat
and hat, he then checked the back door, making sure it was locked. Locking the front door
behind him, Jack retrieved Trotsky from the back yard, saddled up and took  himself off back
to Crowley House, his head abit achy...along with some other aches as well,he had to admit,
shifting in his saddle. But, not a bad night! Although, not exactly with the ending he had
hoped for...Always something!
                          . . . . .
Aleister was up still when Jack got in, seated in the parlor and
reading a journal. You old dog, thought Jack, you just want to know what sort of night I had
at Em's...Well, Al had to live vicariously for now, with Alice having sailed out the picture,
Jack realized and decided to stop in and have a word or two with the lonesome doctor.
'Burning the midnight oil, eh, Al?' Jack stood near the fire, warming up after his ride.
'That time, already?' Aleister feigned surprise. 'How was dinner, then?'
'Oh, Al...are you sure you want to hear about the tamale pie, redolent of chilies, the garlic
mashed potatoes, the tart aromatic sourdough biscuits, the gingerbread...'
'--Stop!' Al swallowed, putting Pavlov's dogs to shame with
his liquid response.'Figures Emmeline would be a cook to rival Alice, with the two of them
swapping recipes!' He sighed then.
'I am missing Yeats more by the minute...'
'You and me both, Al. However--!' He opened his saddlebags and took out a fragrant sack. 'Em
insisted I bring you a doggybag!
Here! Biscuits and gingerbread as well. Enjoy!'
Al pounced upon them with the gusto of a hound-dog. 'Bless her heart! Ah, smell that, Jack!'
He took the iron pot above the fire, dropped in a couple of biscuits and broke off a hunk of
the gingerbread, then swung the arm back over the fire to heat.
'Believe I'll sleep better tonight now!'He regarded Jack appraisingly. 'Soooo...how did the
songfest go?'
Jack sat down at the other end of the sofa from Al. 'Ah, well, not bad! We had alot of fun,
actually! Oy, that piano, though!
I'm having John Grace come out to give it a tune up.' He brushed flour from his pants, and
started removing his boots. 'She seemed to like the merlot, and the roses...we then embarked
upon Alice's port stash though.' Jack shook his head, then put a hand up to his forehead, and
squeezed the bridge of his nose.'Never should have gone there...'
'Bit of a headache, now, Jack?' Al smiled at him, talking around his gingerbread.
'Well...that's expected. I hadn't expected Em to drop off stone
asleep on me, while we're seated at the piano. though!'
'That exciting, eh?' Al grinned wickedly.
'Actually, we let things get out of control abit...but no, not in the way you're thinking!'
Al made a blank of his features as though he'd never be caught thinking anything at all. Jack
continued:'We were having such a fine time, singing and playing...and I sortof made free with
the music, playing a few
modern tunes...some rhythm and blues you know, some soul music.
Hoping to get Em to relax some. I admit I'd had a bit to drink by then...it's a good thing
she fell asleep. I was darn near launching into 'Let Me Play With Your Poodle' at one
point...'
'Oy, indeed, Jack!' Al laughed. 'Ahh, well...next time, maybe.
At least you two seem to be getting along better now, eh?'
'Seems that way.' Jack tossed his boots on the hearth, thinking then that it lacked
something. 'Maybe we should get a dog, here, Al.What do you think? A watch dog.'
'Hmmm...not a bad idea, Jack. I'll think about it. And, we'll have to run it by Yeats of
course...'
'Run what by Yeats?' A familiar yet long-missed voice asked as Yeats entered from the dining
room.
The two men jumped abit, and turned to see their Head, back at last from whatever far-flung
time or place had demanded his attention for nearly a month.
Yeats had a nose for biscuits though, as the others had for news.
'Ummm. Sourdough, eh?' He sauntered toward the pot on the fire, grabbed a bisuit and bit into
one, as Jack and Al stared dumbstruck his way. 'You two look as if you've seen a ghost.'
He munched contentedly. 'Miss me much?'
Jack and Al looked at each other and laughed. Yeats was back!
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